In Shadows of Grey
by Hawkward Russian
Summary: Long before Jason Bourne dropped off the CIA grid, and long before the order was given to terminate those in the program known as Outcome, Aaron Cross was merely a new face, and a new name, amongst those known and training as Outcome agents. While struggling to adapt to his new abilities, Aaron meets fellow operative June Monroe, a woman vastly different than any he had ever known.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

**Hello everybody!**

**So this is my third FanFiction, my second on the _Bourne Legacy_, and I'm really excited to see how you all receive this. As mentioned in the summary, this story is centered off of Aaron Cross's days in training and as an Operative. This story is also about June Monroe.**

**As June was merely a name dropped and unexplained character in _The Bourne Legacy_, I always found her to be extremely fascinating. How she is the first person Aaron thinks of when creating an alias for Marta, and his expression when Marta asks "do you know her", to which he responds with a cryptic and saddened "not anymore". And how is it exactly that in _The Bourne Legacy_ Aaron just so happens to have a woman's wallet stored away in his _CIA issued and stocked_ car door?**

**One thing I can promise you, is that this story is entirely unique, and I hope that you love it!**

**Please leave me a review and tell me what you think! I'll love you forever if you do! :)**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer:**

**Obviously I do not own any of the Bourne movies or any of the recognizable characters, June Monroe is, however, my interpretation of her so...I suppose she is a partial OC.**

**Face claim:**

**June Monroe: Piper Perabo**

* * *

**Aaron:**

_"Are you comfortable?" The deep toned voice of Dr. Albert Hirsch reached me from his seat across the room._

_I fidgeted with my heart monitor on my finger. "Yes, sir," I managed._

_"You don't look comfortable." Hirsch rejoined._

_I swallowed. "No, sir."_

_Hirsch looked down on his clipboard for a moment, before shifting his direct, unblinking stare upon me again. "What's your name?"_

_"Kenneth James," I answered._

_"Full name, Kenneth."_

_"Kenneth James….." I stopped, searching for the missing piece. "Kenneth James…." I whispered again to myself under my breath, hoping that the repetition of the sound would bring the word I couldn't quite find. "Kitsom." I finished, looking up at Hirsch again, hoping that I was right._

_Hirsch nodded, and I felt a brief sense of relief before the nervous anxiety took me over again._

_"Where do you live?"_

_I wrinkled my brow. "When?"_

_"Before you enlisted."_

_This time I had an answer._

_"In Berwin," I said quickly, a little too quickly as I hadn't waited to take a breath, speaking on my exhalation and causing me to be out of breath at the conclusion._

_"Is that a town?" Hirsch asked._

_I frowned, having to think about my words. "It's—It's a state home."_

_"What state?" he continued to press._

_My frown deepened. "In—In Reno. Is this a test?" I asked quickly._

_"Yes, it is." Was my answer._

_I took a breath, dropping my eyes down to my hands in my lap._

_"If I pass," I said, anxiously, looking up again, "can I stay here?"_

_"Do you want to stay here, Kenneth?"_

_I looked into his eyes, speaking with as much confidence as I could muster. "Yes, sir."_

_Hirsch nodded. "That's good to hear….."_

* * *

"He's peaking!" I heard a woman cry, a thousand other sounds and feelings pressing upon me all at once, as the buzz of voices and the now sporadic beeping of countless machines verged into my consciousness.

My eyes started open, my limbs flailing as I tried to rise, sucking in an tremendous gasp of air, my heart rate racing.

My efforts to rise were cut short by a strap across my chest holding me down on the hospital bed I was lying on, while even my arms and legs were secured by my sides. Still I struggled against my bonds, not even realizing why.

As my vision cleared, I became aware of the faces of masked doctors and nurses, looking down upon me while talking in quick tones with each other, referring to their clipboards and to the swarm of monitors surrounding the bed.

"He's stabilizing," I heard the same nurse report once more above the buzz of other sounds, and what she said must have been true because my heart rate began to slow back to normal and my struggling waned. Still, however my eyes darted from one face to the next, my pupils slightly dilated.

"What's happening?" I croaked out between cracked lips, my voice sounding foreign in my own ears.

"Exactly what you wanted to happen, Kenneth." was the answer I received, though it came from a voice I had not yet heard, while a face that had gone unnoticed appeared inside my line of vision.

It was a face I recognized.

"My name is Dr. Albert Hirsch, but you know that already, don't you Kenneth?"

The riddled responses, the repetition of my name, the way he brought his face into the light and met my eyes, all were cues I knew to be meant to jog my memory. And it was working. I was slowly remembering everything.

I remembered my life before joining the army, I remembered being recruited and barely scraping through boot camp, I remembered the IED we drove over while on my first tour in Afghanistan, I remembered waking up in some facility, and I remembered talking to this man before me, Dr. Albert Hirsch. But most importantly, I remembered what we talked about.

What was all that about memory sparking cues I was just thinking about a moment ago? How the hell did I draw _that_ conclusion from his words? But it was true. I _knew_ it to be so, and his next words just went to prove it.

"You remember, don't you Kenneth?" Hirsch said again from above me, his voice sounding in low, gravely tones, that seemed to vibrate from deep within his diaphragm.

My eyes flashed over to his face, frowning slightly. "I do." I answered hesitantly. "Am I—Did you—change me? Are you finished?"

Hirsch smiled, looking down his nose and past his narrow rimmed glasses at me. "You, too, already know the answer to that, Kenneth. Can you feel the difference? In how you think? In how you _breathe_?"

I _could_ feel the difference. I could feel it in every fiber of my being.

l could feel the blood pumping through my veins, my lungs seeming to expand each time I took a breath, bringing with it a new energy, a spark of some fire that seemed to be smoldering deep in my bones, just itching to be let out and given free reign.

And my mind….

For the first time in my life, I could _think_.

My brain was working at an incredible pace, giving me a consciousness and awareness of every sound, every movement in the busy room. Receiving, processing, and storing away each particle of information I received before moving on to the next one. But I seemed to be doing it without any extra effort on my part, as if my brain had been doing such a practice for years till it had turned into a habit, easily adapted to.

It was incredible.

For the first time in my life, I felt _alive_.

Dr. Hirsch, who had been watching my face closely all during my personal discovery, smiled once more. "We have given you a new life, Kenneth, and with that new life comes a new name. You are no longer Kenneth James Kitsom. From now on, you will be known as Aaron Cross."

He paused, and I digested his words.

I didn't want to be Kenneth anymore, I didn't want to have to live his life, too slow and stupid to live unassisted. What I had now, what they had given me, it was the realization of all my dreams; to finally be able to think and move as my own man. And now that I had a taste of what it was like, I didn't want to give it up.

_Aaron Cross._

_I am Aaron Cross._

"Welcome to the program, Aaron," Hirsch continued, "Welcome to _Outcome_."

* * *

The sound of the clock ticking was the only sound in the room, as I sat, straight-backed, in my chair, my arms resting on the cold metal of the table before me as I waited.

The sound of boots outside in the hallway was heard, and I tensed accordingly, before the door was opened and a man walked in, closing the door behind him.

He stood still for a moment, considering me with a sharp eye, before drawing back the chair across from me and taking a seat, spreading out the contents of file he carried in with him over the tabletop.

"Aaron Cross…." he muttered absentmindedly, his eyes skimming the words on the pages of the file as he flipped through them.

"Sir," I answered, not sure if an answer was required, but responding more out of habit. My hands dropped down to my thighs.

The man raise his eyes up to my face, still holding a page in mid turn, and considered me for a moment, before laying the page to rest on the tabletop and leaning back in his chair.

"My name is Eric Byer," he began in the crisp tone one uses when accustomed to being obeyed. "I'm the man responsible for your current situation, and I am the man who can take it away at a word. I am also your superior officer and you will be reporting only to me, understand?"

I nodded and managed a "yes sir".

Byer nodded, turning his attention back to the file, which I took to be mine by a thumbnail sized picture of my face in the upper left corner on one of the pages. "Good." he muttered, his eyes tracing a paragraph. "It's been 27 hours since you received your programming…..your assessments all look good….." he trailed off for a brief period, before he lifted his head and gave me another perceptive once-over. "How are the enhancements treating you, Cross?"

"It's a dream come true, sir. I'm very grateful." I responded rigidly, though the truth in my statement was in my eyes.

Byer gave a slow nod, his eyes remaining on my face. "Good. I'm glad to hear that."

After a moment more of being under his scrutiny, he dropped his eyes and pulled out from the back flap on the file a necklace that was designed like a dog tag, which he slid across the table to stop in front of me.

Reaching out a hand, I picked it up and examined it, running my thumb over the inscription.

_Aaron Cross, _it read, _Outcome 05_.

As I ran my thumb over it, I noticed that the top gave way under my movements, so adding a bit more pressure, I slid aside the front, revealing a hollowed out inside that was lined with rows of small blue and green pills.

"That is your new Program Med Kit," Byer said in response to the questioning look I gave him. "All of our Outcome agents receive their dog tag upon introduction to the program. You can report with Doctor Marta Shearing tonight at 21:00 hours for your daily assessment, and she'll give you your dosage instructions then."

"21:00 hours?" I questioned, slipping the dog tag over my head and feeling its weight bump against my chest. "Why the change in schedule?"

"Because," Byer said, snapping his file shut and rising, "your first day of training starts now, Five."

_My first day of training._

Those words sent a thrill threw me; an intoxicating mixture of adrenaline, excitement, fear, and anxiety.

"This way, Agent." Snagging his file off the tabletop, Byer turned and walked out the door, not even waiting for me to follow, though in an instant I had risen and fallen into step behind him, looking about me as I did so.

Byer led me down a series of whitewashed hallways, passing a few men and women in white lab coats as we did so, before he approached a large elevator, pressing the _up_ button.

The doors opened with a _ding, _and both Byer and I stepped inside. A moment of silence passed before the doors opened out upon a spacious room, where quite the sight greeted my eyes.

The room was bare of all furnishings except for mats laid out over the floor on one half, and a long row of punching bags shaped like the head and torso of a man on the other. All along the room both men and women were going through drills. Fighting matches were going on in groups on the mats, while the punching bags were being battered repeatedly and with a skillful ferocity, and all under the watchful eyes of their instructors, pacing between the ranks with their arms clasped behind their backs, shouting out tips or instructions or stopping briefly to demonstrate.

I had but a moment to glance around me, however, as Byer moved on, leading me straight through the middle of the two groups towards the far end of the room.

My head swiveled as I took in my surroundings, watching the actions of the men and women drilling as we passed, and a few looked up in curiosity at me, though most kept their focus on their rigorous training.

I noted that not one of the people I passed by wore a dog tag around their necks.

At last we reached the opposite wall, and stood before a solitary metal door, where Byer halted and typed an 8 digit code on a keypad beside the doorframe, pressing a thumb up to a biometrics scanner.

"Eric Byer," he voiced, close to the keypad, and a click was heard, before the door slid open just wide enough for a man to enter through.

Byer stepped through this and I followed, the door sliding closed behind us with a click of finality.

Still Byer was on the move, this time down a dimly lit hallway which branched off into two separate corridors, Byer starting down the one on the left. Meeting face to face with a door, Byer glanced back at me before opening it, and we entered into an equally dimly lit room.

The room was occupied with two men and a woman holding a clipboard, all three of them watching through a one-sided window the events going on in the next room, though they glanced our way when we entered, giving Byer a respectful nod and casting a curious eye on me, their gaze quickly dropping down to my dog tag before turning to look out the window again.

Byer gave those in the room a nod, before stepping forward also to watch out the window, and I followed his example.

The room beyond was brightly lit, while small and box-like in its dimensions with four entrances on all four sides, and completely bare. In the center of the floor, stood a young woman, her blond hair tied back in a simple French braid, strands of flyaway's framing her face. She was dressed in a simple white thick-strapped tank top, and military green cargo pants, rocking back and forth slightly on her bare feet, her stance ready while her brown eyes, alight with anticipation, flicked from door to door, her lips slightly parted in an eager breath.

A short buzzer sounded, and all four doors opened, four lithe men entering through each door, effectively cornering her on all sides, while in each of their hands, they held a short bamboo staff.

The woman eyed the four men warily, her eyes shifting from one to the other as they circled her.

One of the four off to her right stepped forward quickly, making a swift move for her head with his staff. The blonde, however, reacted with lightning fast instincts, twisting in, she grabbed his wrist stopping his swing before he could follow through, and whipped the side of her palm back forcefully into his jugular.

He choked and, without wasting an instant, she twisted in and around to his back, bringing his wrist back with her so that he was caught in a painful hold, forcing him to relinquish his hold on the bamboo staff, which she whipped around, taking his feet out from under him and causing him to fall hard on his face.

In an instant the others were upon her, the first bringing his staff down in a wide arc, which she blocked with her own before twisting and bringing the back end of her staff into his exposed side, blocking a blow from another in the same movement.

The fourth rounded up on her from the side, and when she went to block his blow, his hand clamped over her staff, forcing the point of its momentum into the floor.

This didn't slow her down in the slightest however, as she used her momentum to go into a slide along his left side, using the planted pole as leverage to swing her around and in between his legs, where she rose to one knee before him, elbowing him hard in the solar plexus.

He instinctively doubled over, his hold loosening on both staffs, which the blonde speedily took over, giving him a parting blow in the side with one, before bringing him down with the other by taking out his feet.

No sooner was he down, then the remaining two advanced towards her at the same time, both of them attacking from both sides with full force.

The blonde was hard pressed to defend herself from both fronts, though with her two staffs she held her own, till, with a neat move, she somehow managed to entangle both of her attacker's staffs up with one of her own, locking it up momentarily so no movement was possible from either of them for just an instant.

However, an instant was all this woman needed.

Bringing the back end of her staff into the kidneys of one man, with a twist she brought her staff up and to the side between his feet with a sweep, tripping him up and causing him to fall hard on his back.

The lock now broken, the other was free, but didn't stand a chance against the blonde with both of her staffs now free as well.

Blocking a blow, she brought her staff in and out alongside his hand with a quick twist of the wrist, neatly disarming him, before dropping into a powerful spinning crouch and taking out his legs with hers while clipping him under the chin with the blunt end of one of her poles.

She rose quickly in one fluid movement, both of her staffs held at the ready while her dark eyes darted around at the men still strewing the floor searching for any remaining threat. Seeing that there was none, she lowered the bamboo poles in her hands and relaxed her guard, her eyes glancing up to the one-way window with a slight smirk playing about her lips.

The whole fight had lasted little over a minute, and the blonde was barely out of breath, much less even breaking a sweat.

Those in the room with me nodded, and began talking amongst each other in earnest whispers, the woman scribbling away madly on her clipboard.

I noticed a lift in Byer's head and a hint of satisfied smile flash over his face as he surveyed the outcome of the fight, before it vanished and he bent forward to activate a COM system with the room beyond.

"Monroe, report immediately."

The blonde stopped in her act of helping the men up off the floor, and glanced up at the window with a grin. "That you, Byer?" she called out, her voice coming in through the same COM.

Byer's face remained emotionless, and he made no move to answer.

Her grin matured before it faded to a smirk, and she helped the last man up before passing him her staffs and walking out the room.

A moment later, the door opened, and the woman herself walked in, the smirk still just barely visible around the corners of her mouth, while her eyes did a quick once-over of those in the room as of one accustomed to being alert at all times of her surroundings.

Her eyes alighted on Byer and she smiled slightly, coming to stand before him, leaning back on her heels, her legs slightly apart in a confident, yet ready stance, while she crossed her arms.

"You couldn't spare one visit for your old protégé, Byer?" she said with a playful smirk.

The man before her remained cool. "I've been extremely busy as of late, and you know that's not how things work. Besides," he raised an eyebrow, "it seems you've been doing just fine on your own."

The blonde smirked, before her eyes shifted over to me, looking me over from head to toe with a perceptive glance, and I knew her to be sizing me up. Her eyes lingered, however, on my dog tag, and I noticed her tense slightly, her eyes flashing up to my face.

"Who's this?" she asked, her voice losing its playfulness and holding a curious note, with a underlying hint of caution, in it instead.

"June Monroe, meet Aaron Cross, Outcome 05." Byer said, looking over both of us.

June raised an eyebrow. "Outcome 05." She voiced, saying it more like a statement than a question. "New recruit, huh?" Once more, her eyes passed over me, though this time with more scrutiny.

Byer looked steadily into her face. "I want you to introduce him to how things work around here. Show him the ropes. Get him used to his programming before the two of you meet with White."

June acknowledged Byer with a nod, her eyes still on me. "Yes, sir." she rapped off curtly, and Byer nodded.

"Good. I'll leave him in your care then." And without another word, Byer took his leave of the others in the room with a curt nod, walking to the door.

With his hand on the handle, he hesitated, however, and turned back to face June. "Oh and Monroe," he said in a low voice, his eyes meeting hers with an underlying hint of caution in them, "you know the rules."

A flicker of a shadow passed over her face, before she nodded once, and Byer turned and left the room, leaving me standing with June.

She met my eyes briefly, before they drifted over back towards the door.

When she next turned her face towards me, it seemed that her face was a bit more veiled then before, though she looked upon me in a nonthreatening manner.

June smiled faintly, meeting my eyes, and gave a vague little tilt of her head. "Welcome to Outcome, Aaron."

* * *

**A/N:**

**So? What did you all think? Let me know in the reviews below! :)**


	2. Thirty-Seven Minute Friendship

**A/N:**

**Chapter two here we go!**

**I'm kinda playing this by ear...the beginning part at least. Once I get my new favorite pair out into the field that's when the real fun starts, so stick around!**

* * *

**June:**

"You have approximately 37 minutes to ask me whatever questions you might have." I said to the man Aaron Cross following at my heels as I walked down the hallways and back to the prep room outside of the Kill Box.

"Why the countdown?" I heard him ask with amusement behind me.

I kept my eyes on the hallway before me as I answered him. "Because at exactly 09:00, you and I will be reporting to White, and its forbidden in this facility for field operatives to talk with each other. As of right now, Byer exempted me from that rule when he instructed me to instate you in the facility, but it will become valid again as soon as you're placed under White's charge."

I entered the prep room and walked over to the shelf that held my belongings that I had stripped myself of before entering the Kill Box for my fight session. Picking up my flat-surface watch, I fastened it around my wrist, glancing back at Aaron as I did so. "36 minutes….."

The corners of his mouth twitched. "Okay….Who's White?" he asked, watching me in my work with blue eyes that looked like a storm about to break; eyes that held potential.

Honestly, his whole body held potential, anyone could see that, though I could tell in the meek, almost awkward, way he carried himself, that he himself didn't realize the exact amount of that potential, that he was unsure what his response towards it should be.

He just needed someone to show him.

See, as for me, I could read his entire history just by looking at him.

Judging by his stance, walk, and buzz cut, he had some sort of military background, and with the presence of tan lines just beginning to fade around his wrists and neckline, I would make an educated guess that he had been on tour somewhere overseas, somewhere hot.

My next observation just went to strengthen and define that theory, as I noticed the now just barely visible marks and scars about his face, arms, and hands, evidence of shrapnel, now healing rapidly due to the enhancements now coursing through his Outcome blood.

So with a military background that took him overseas to someplace hot, someplace where the fighting was thick as he obviously obtained an injury, most likely from an IED or some other roadside bomb judging from the shrapnel, I would say that he recently served a tour in either Afghanistan or Iraq.

That would explain his joining Outcome.

He probably is considered KIA by everyone else in the world, after his injury.

Outcome loves to pick up strays—misfits with hopeless cases. People they can turn into ghosts without anyone to haunt.

After reading all this in a glance, I took a seat on a nearby bench, and began pulling on my boots. "Arthur White," I said, answering his question, "will be your trainer. At least for your first months in Outcome." I glanced up at him with a slight smirk. "Word to the wise: he doesn't take well to wit or sarcasm. Thinks you're being a smart ass. Best stay on his good side with that one by playing dumb."

A flicker of a smile passed over Aaron's face. "Duly noted."

I turned back to lacing up my boots.

I loved my boots. They were the one thing I fought to keep when joining the facility, and while everyone else wore the standard combat boots, I got to wear my own. They were sturdy dark brown leather that laced up all the way to just under the knee with a flattering fit that blended perfectly with whatever outfit I was wearing—from my standard combat uniform, to a fancy dress that I would have to wear occasionally when undercover on an Op.

But that wasn't why I loved them so much. The real reason was because of their hidden qualities. My boots were half the weight of most while still maintaining a sturdy quality, and their flat soles with excellent arch support, were utterly soundless.

Plus, they held an almost sentimental quality for me; the one surviving item I had of my past life.

You may think it strange for me, an operative, to be ranting on about my boots, buy hey, I may be able to kill you in less than 3 seconds, but I'm still a woman.

A fact most seem to forget.

"You said earlier that we were both going to meet White. Is he your trainer too? Now that Byer has other duties?" Aaron asked me.

So he's been paying attention. Good for him. The faster he learns to pick up on details like that, the higher the chance that he actually might survive this place.

I nodded. "Yes, White is my trainer now. At least, when I'm not on an Op."

"So you're a field agent?" he said mildly, "You're operational?" He wasn't expecting an answer, we both knew that, he was just voicing his thoughts as is a human reaction. I already gave him my answer. And I'm not taken to repeating myself.

A slight furrow appeared on his brow as he looked down on me. "Exactly what do you do on those 'Op's'?" he asked quietly, meeting my eyes. "What are they like?"

I rose and stood before him, and for a moment I said nothing.

"You're not in Afghanistan anymore, Aaron." I said quietly, going out on a limb by saying the most likely of the two, hoping to garner the correct answer out of the two for my own personal Intel.

He glanced at me sharply at my words. "Did you read my file?"

I smiled. _So I was right._

"No, I didn't read your file. Around here, _nothing_ in this facility is public knowledge. _Everybody_ keeps _everything_ from _everyone_." I shrugged. "I keep secrets from Byer, he keeps secrets from me, and we both keep secrets from you. Understand?"

He frowned, crossing his arms and looking down upon me.

It bothered me that he was taller. It shouldn't have, it really shouldn't have. But it just did. Made me want to give him a targeted kick in the side of the kneecap. Bring him to his knees.

_Blow it off, June._

Tossing my braid over my shoulder, I turned around and grabbed my last and most important personal item off the shelf.

My locket.

I didn't like turning my back on this guy. Not that I couldn't take him—he didn't know what to do with himself with all of his new enhancements. Plus, he didn't seem like the type that would strike a woman.

No, it wasn't because he was a threat. He just seemed so….._innocent_. Out of place in this den of thieves, liars, and killers. It was the honesty I saw in his eyes, the trusting ignorance, that made me uncomfortable.

I didn't know how to handle good people. Probably because I wasn't one.

I could feel his eyes on me as I fastened the clasp of my locket around my neck, but I kept my back to him, watching his movements in the reflection of the polished silver of the locker.

I dropped the burnished bronze face of my locket down my shirt, concealing it there and feeling its familiar weight rest between my breasts before turning to face Aaron once more.

"Any more questions?" I asked with the toss of my head.

He looked at me in silence for a moment, and I saw his eyes follow the chain of my necklace in curiosity before they snapped back up to my face quickly when he realized where it led.

"How did you know I served in Afghanistan?" he asked levelly.

I smiled. "Someday, Aaron," I said in a knowing tone, "you'll understand."

He kept his face emotionless, though I saw the slight line appear on his forehead. I realized that he had a talent for making his face blank. With just a little practice he could easily construct a stone wall to erect before his features any time he chose. And with any luck his acting might be half as good. If not, well, White would fix that.

"So what was all that about?" he asked, nodding his head towards the door marking the entrance to the Kill Box.

I glanced over my shoulder at it, before looking back at Aaron. "What, the fight? That was a training assessment. We take them at random times during the week. Their purpose is to give our superiors an idea of how well we are training, and what areas we need to improve on, as well as keeping us on our toes. With the assessments being unscheduled, it gives an element of surprise. You never know when they'll call you in for one. And they test us in other areas too, besides combat. You just got to watch my session in the Kill Box."

Aaron raised an eyebrow. "The Kill Box?"

I shrugged. "Trainee slang for the fight assessment room."

Again, Aaron raised an eyebrow, peering down at me with a curious look. "I thought you said that us operatives weren't allowed to talk to each other."

I gave a wry grin. "We aren't."

I could see the question in his eyes as he looked down on me, but I ignored it, turning away again instead to snag my brown leather jacket and throw it over my shoulders.

"What happens if you fail an assessment?" Aaron's voice asked again over my shoulder.

I stiffened.

A dark and threatening cloud seemed to hang over me as images came to my mind unbidden. A slack, blank face. Dull, soulless eyes. A scream of pleading in the dead of night. A face, dark and malevolent, with shining green eyes like a snake…

I inhaled deeply through my nose.

"Failure's not an option." I said softly in a low tone.

Before Aaron could question me further on the subject, I turned around, facing him with an effortlessly light smile. "Care for the grand tour?"

He looked about him and shifted on his feet. "Sure, yeah."

I smiled and motioned for him to follow me with a jerk of the head.

Once more taking the lead, I walked, with him following beside and slightly behind me, out of the prep room and through the hallways. The corridors were, as always, nearly entirely abandoned.

The entire floor was sectioned off into two parts: there was the training room for the quote on quote "normal" agents for the CIA, a room that Outcome Five must have passed through on his way in here, and then there was the facility for Outcome.

Accessible only through the door in the training room, which was protected by a pass code, a biometrics scanner, and a voice key, the Outcome facility was expansive. A single corridor expanded out from the access point, while gradually other hallways branched off from the main corridor like a menorah, each one of these hallways leading to various rooms all designated a solely utilitarian purpose. If you stay on the main corridor, however, it eventually opens up into an enormous training facility. Firing range, obstacle course, mock rooms to clear, exhaustive gym, you name it. And above all this, on a second level accessed by a stairwell, stretched a row of dorms, each one accessed by a balcony-like walkway that wrapped around the whole room. A single, large skylight up above flooded the place with sunlight, while the other hallways about the facility were habitually kept dim.

It was to the "common room", as I called the open space under the skylight, that I led Cross. I watched his head swivel about him, his eyes widening slightly as he took everything in.

"There are five rules in this facility. Some of them unspoken. Call them survival tips, if you will." I began, speaking in a tone just loud enough for him to hear. There were cameras covering every inch of this place except for the dorms and bathrooms.

"Rule number one: _Never _question your superiors, and never voice your opinion unless it is directly requested." I looked back over my shoulder at the new recruit to be sure he was tracking my conversation. He was.

"Rule number two: Tardiness isn't permitted. You have a schedule, you stick too it and arrive on the dot. You'll be penalized for being even a minute late."

"Number three: You don't leave this facility, stick your nose where it's not supposed to be, or leave Outcome's designated areas without express permission from your superiors. Basically you cant do anything outside of your schedule without authorization."

"Four: Curfew is final and enforced. Leaving your room after lights out is under no circumstance permitted. No exceptions. And finally, number five:" I glanced back at Aaron again. "Limited contact with other Outcome agents, and all contact with those outside of the program is restricted."

He nodded, taking it all in. "That it?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"More or less." I rejoined. "Mostly less. There's too much to sum up in a rule book. A couple days in here and you'll get the rest."

He nodded. Looked about him. Looked me over out of the corner of his eye. I turned my back on him and took him up the stairwell, passing by the doors like I had done a thousand times, till I came to Aaron's. I knew it was his because I had seen one of Byer's minions unlock the door and bring in a pile of fresh linen earlier this morning.

Trying the handle, I found it to be unlocked as I had expected, and pushed the door open before stepping back, remaining in the doorway.

"Your new home," I motioned inside with a jerk of the head. Aaron glanced at me, before turning his attention upon the room, passing by me as he walked inside, his head swiveling.

I didn't follow him, choosing instead to remain in the doorway, crossing my arms and leaning my weight up against the doorframe as I watched him. I already knew what he would find. All of the rooms were the same: small, sparsely furnished with items solely utilitarian.

Even without looking, I could see his room in my mind, the same as my own. There would be a small twin bed off in the corner, a plain wood grain wardrobe beside a chest of drawers pushed up against the wall, a table with one harsh, straight-backed chair, and a small bookshelf, empty and bleak. All made out of the same light colored wood, with harsh corners and no embellishments or engravings to speak of.

It wasn't much. It wasn't much at all.

Aaron Cross didn't speak, merely looked about him silently, sliding his palm across the smooth wood surface of the wardrobe. I could see the conflict in his eyes. The mixture of excitement at his new enhancements, yet fear and anxiety at his new situation. Right now he was trying to figure out if it was worth it. If he made the right decision. If he had one at all.

"Damn it," I muttered under my breath, glancing at my watch and drawing Aaron's attention. "We're out of time."

I looked up at him quickly and made a sharp gesture with my hand, motioning him to follow me out. I didn't bother to wait for him, but turned on my heel and stepped out quickly into the hallway.

I set a brisk pace, and I could hear Aaron following me as we jogged down the staircase and then started down the hallways.

"Are we meeting White now?" he called out behind me.

I rounded a corner and then paused by a door, looking back at Aaron with my hand on the handle. "You ready?"

He threw back his shoulders and straightened, clearing his face of emotion before steeling his jaw. "Ready."

I smirked, nodded, and opened the door.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Hehehe. I like this new little story... ;)**

**Leave reviews for me, yeah? I love it when I get feedback from all of you!**

**Later, Loves! ;D**


	3. Failure's Not An Option

**A/N:**

**Hellooooo!**

**So sorry for being absent for so long! I haven't had internet till now... Thanks so much for all of your reviews, and follows, and favorites! They encouraged me so much! :)**

**Anywho, here's your update, which is something of a favorite of mine. :)**

* * *

**Aaron:**

_I'm screwed._

That was my first thought as I followed the Blonde, June Monroe, through the doorway and into a new room—the very first sight that greeted my eyes being a large, and very deep swimming pool.

And that feeling only increased as I looked around at my surroundings.

The room I suddenly found myself in was rather large and dimly lit, a substantial pool taking up a good portion of its square footage, and thereby giving the room the clammy, wet, echo-y feel that accompanies indoor pools.

Off in the corner, standing slightly together in a group, yet keeping an unfriendly distance between each other, was three men and one woman—the occasional muted whisper, amplified over the surface of the still pool, wafting over towards June and I.

They were a mixed group, of all different races, sizes, and nationalities.

The woman seemed to be of Korean decent, with her small stature, narrow eyes, and thin dark hair, while one man was obviously European, his strongly accented low tones betraying him. Towering over the heads of the group was an enormous black man, all six-foot-four of him bulging with well defined muscles, and leaning up against the wall with a confident smirk upon his face was the fifth member, equally as strong in form though not quite as tall; American by all appearances.

Together, they made quite the intimidating sight—all four of them dressed in the standard uniform of military green cargo pants, a white shirt or thick-strapped tank top, and heavy military issue combat boots, their dog tags hanging from around their necks like a badge of audacity, cunning, and strength.

_I'm screwed, _I thought again as they all looked towards June and I when we entered, for I instantly recognized these four men and women to be my fellow trainees.

June herself seemed to have transformed into a different person since walking through the doorway.

The smooth confidence was still there—still hinting at that underlying lethality and mystery—yet now she seemed utterly unreachable. Every expression, every thought you thought you could read, every tone, every spark in her eye—all were wiped. She was completely stone walled. Blank. Cold. Emotionless. A perfect and impenetrable mask.

I couldn't help but watch her, confused, amazed, and slightly impressed at the sudden transformation, as she walked smoothly up towards the group.

I must also confess that I felt slightly betrayed. Up till now, I had counted upon her as something of an ally.

"Where's White?" she asked coolly, addressing no one in particular.

As she approached, the American pushed off the wall, the smirk upon his face growing. "Aw, Monroe!" he drawled, ignoring her question, "Where's your bikini? Didn't you know we were going swimming today? And here I so wanted to see you in a bikini…." He paused, running his eyes boldly over her figure. "That's fine," he continued. "Looks like you and Mhyen will have a Wet T-Shirt competition for me instead."

The Korean woman scoffed, shooting the speaker a glare. "Pervert…." she muttered under her breath, but the American either didn't notice, or ignored her.

I felt a sudden dislike for this guy. I had seen his type before—many times, in fact—in the army. I never liked any of them either.

Clenching my jaw and narrowing my eyes, I glared at the bold American, but he seemed to have eyes only for June.

"Where's White?" she asked again, this time addressing the American while she stared him on as if in challenge, completely disregarding his last words with a cool disdain.

The American's smirk faded, leaving behind a cold, hard face that made me dislike him even more. He opened his mouth to speak, but a voice across the room beat him to it.

"I'm right here, One," said the newcomer, stepping into the light to show a broad, muscular form with hard edges and marked with scars, a brisk military buzz-cut overshadowing a pair of the bluest eyes I had ever seen. "And you, Monroe, are late."

June's form stiffened as he addressed her. "I apologize, sir," she said crisply, not turning around to face him, speaking to the wall instead. "Byer gave me orders to instate the new recruit."

The man, who I took to be Arthur White, grunted and turned his piercing crystal blue eyes upon me. I, however, was distracted by something he had said earlier. He had called June Monroe "One". As in the number one. As in the first. The first of what? The first of _Outcome?_

"Formation!" White suddenly barked, and I was brought back to the present as my fellow trainees suddenly snapped into action, forming a straight line and standing at attention with their legs slightly spread in a ready stance, their hands clasped behind their backs, and their eyes gazing straight ahead.

I hastened to follow suit, and ended up positioned on the far end beside the European, with Monroe beyond him.

Clearing his throat with an amplified effect in the silent, echo-filled room, White clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace before the rank, surveying each trainee in turn as he slowly passed.

He stopped when he got to me and eyed me critically, in the same manner a jockey eyes a race horse, but I remained motionless keeping my eyes centered on a light fixture across the room. That was one thing I learned in the Army: how to be a statue.

"Your name, Agent!" he barked in my face, and I had a moment of déjà vu of my drill sergeant.

"Aaron Cross, sir!" I responded crisply, holding my form with my eyes gazing forward.

White grunted again, sizing me up. With a sudden movement he snatched up my dog tag and jerked it up close to his eyes, the chain rasping against the back of my neck and threatening to make my balance waver, but I kept my feet planted and didn't budge and inch.

"Outcome Five…." he muttered, reading the inscription. His eyes shifted up to consider me once more. "And _this _is the new recruit NRAG sends me?" he hissed, purposefully well inside my personal space, eyeing me with cold disdain. "They hand me your shot out ass, too stupid to scrape through boot camp on you own, and expect me to turn you into a fully operational Outcome agent?!"

_Ouch._

I didn't remember insults like that one stinging so badly when I was in the Army. Then again, when I was in the Army, most of their meaning was lost on me in the first place. Well, I understood them perfectly now.

"With respect, sir," I began, keeping my eyes still centered on the light fixture, "I said my name was Aaron Cross, not Kenneth Kitsom."

The silence was deafening.

To my right, I thought I saw a flash of movement as if June Monroe had snuck a surprised glance in my direction, but I couldn't be sure as a pair of piercing crystal blue eyes suddenly consumed my line of vision.

For a full seven seconds all that could be heard was the distant tick of a clock across the room, myself counting its beats as I focused my eyes upon the point of an old scar that ran down from White's forehead to his cheekbone, avoiding eye contact and maintaining my position as they had taught me in the Army, yet not backing down.

"Well then, _Aaron Cross,_" he hissed in a low, threatening tone, putting an emphasis on my name, "let's see how well you survive _my _boot camp. Because once we set you loose, once we tag you like the dog you are, there's no going back. Because out there," he pointed beyond him to the walls as if gesturing to the world outside, "there are no rules. There is only _you. _And _you _had better be enough. You want to know why, Five? Because _Failure. Isn't. An. Option._"

In my head I replayed June Monroe saying the same thing, her form tense and her tone hollow.

After staring me down for a moment more, White, with a sudden movement, dropped my dog tag where it fell against my chest once more, before moving on and continuing to pace along the rank of trainees—this time behind our backs. Allowing myself the pleasure of blinking, I once more focused my gaze upon my light fixture across the room.

"For today's exercise," White began, addressing the whole room, "I was planning to focus upon lung expansion and the brain's function under low oxygenation, but your new friend Five here has changed my mind." He paused in his pacing and I could feel his eyes boring a hole into my back before he continued.

"Instead, I have decided upon a classic hostage rescue situation. You know the drill. I'll pair you up into teams of two, and each member has three minutes to save their partner chained to the bottom of the pool. Is something wrong, Five?"

White had gone full circle, and was now paused expectantly before me, his crystal blue eyes focused.

"I—I don't know how to swim, sir." I confessed.

Down the row, the American gave a thinly disguised scoff, and I saw the sudden flash of movement again as if June Monroe had once more cast another surprised glance in my direction.

I dropped my eyes down to meet White's, hoping for some understanding, but the man's before me were hardened into an icy blue.

"Well then, we'll learn fast, won't we?" he sneered, an unsettling smile twisting across his lips.

_Yup. Definitely screwed._

I swallowed and flicked my eyes back up to my light fixture, while White turned about on the spot and paced back to the center of the rank.

"McCallen! Dunn! You two will be paired together!" he barked, and the American and European stepped neatly forward to stand alongside the edge of the deep end of the pool.

"Mhyen! Swift! So will you!" The Korean and the giant of a black man also stepped forward.

"Monroe! Cross! You two will make team three!" With the European gone, there was nothing to block my view of June Monroe, and I matched her movements as she broke rank and went to stand alongside the others beside the pool.

The pool was deep—very deep—and looking down, I could dimly see the tiling at the bottom.

White paced once before us all, holding out his hand for all of our dog tags, and I noticed that June gave him both her dog tag, which she produced from her bra, and her locket that she unfastened from around her neck; placing both in his palm where they clinked against the others.

Next, we all busied ourselves with unlacing our boots, removing our jackets, and, in the case of the men, pulling our shirts up over heads, discarding all in neat piles beside each owner.

After all of this had been completed, White once more passed before us all, this time handing out a short stretch of silver wire to each team, June wordlessly accepting ours.

My palms started sweating about the time when White brought out six lengths of chain.

I really started to panic when he roughly spun Dunn, the European, around and began to bind both his wrists and ankles tightly together with two lengths of chain while his victim stood placidly by, securing them both with two heavy padlocks.

After testing that the chains and padlocks were fastened, White, with a careless gesture, roughly shoved Dunn over the edge and sent him toppling into the pool with a splash, where the water swiftly consumed him.

I watched in horror as his form, distorted by the ripples over the surface of the pool, rapidly sunk down into its depths, weighted down by the heavy chains. When he finally reached the bottom, McCallen dove in after him, his muscular form barely making a splash.

White, without a backward glance at either, moved on down the row to chain the Korean woman, Mhyen, up in the same manner.

"Is it true you don't know how to swim?" June suddenly asked me in an urgent whisper, turning her dark eyes upon me.

"Yes!" I cried, "I cant do this!" I was really starting to panic now, the impending situation draw nearer and nearer as I watched Mhyen also be thrown into the water.

June muttered something under her breath in a language I did not understand before speaking to me once more.

"Just pay attention, and trust me!" She was unable to say more as White was then approaching, the echo of Swift's splash echoing in the room as he dove in after his partner.

With a calloused hand, my war-scarred trainer roughly spun me around, and I felt the heavy, cold metal of the chain against my skin as he began to bind my wrists together.

My breath came fast and heavy as I looked down into the depths of the water, my heart rate steadily accelerating.

Water had been a major fear for me for as long as I could remember—the vision of myself drowning in a cold and bottomless lake having haunted my dreams more than once.

And now I was about to plunge straight into that nightmare. Chained.

A strangled cry of resistance rose in my throat as White fastened the padlock around the chain on my wrist with painful tightness, beginning to wrap another around my ankles, but I forced it down at the last second.

_No! You will not panic! You will prove yourself to be Aaron Cross! You will prove yourself to be worthy of Outcome!_

With an effort, I began to slow my breathing, fighting for composure.

I heard the click of the padlock, felt White's rough hand between my shoulder blades, and then suddenly I was toppling forward, managing to snag a gulp of air before I hit the water and felt myself be dragged under.

I was sinking. _Fast. _The weight of the chains pulling me down deeper and deeper as small bubbles of air frantically swirled about me.

Under the water, all of my previous resolve evaporated and I was struck with a crippling pang of fear, before an even stronger sense of panic set in and I began to struggle wildly, fruitlessly trying to shrug off my chains.

Still I sank, seemingly for an eternity, and my ears began to pop painfully as the blood rushed to my head, the pool beginning to defy reality in my fear stricken mind and taking on the shape of that dark, bottomless lake I had dreamt of so often.

Suddenly my feet hit the bottom, and the rest of my body toppled over like a domino till I was lying on my face against the tile.

_I'm going to die. I'm going to drown, chained at the bottom of a pool._

At this thought I struggled madly, twisting this way and that and putting all of my energy into at least getting my hands free. Somewhere in the back of my subconscious I heard the distant drumbeat of something diving into the water, and a few moments later I felt a pair of hands upon me, fingertips brushing against the bare skin of my chest.

Blinded by panic and fear, I panicked, kicking out with my feet and wriggling madly, but the hands tightened about me, effortlessly righting me in the water and pinning me up against the wall of the pool by my shoulders, a face looming into my vision.

It was June Monroe.

Looking back, who else could it have been? But like I said: I wasn't thinking straight.

She held me still, forcing me to look her in the eye, and I found that I could read words in the expression found there. She was saying: _calm down. _And I did.

Her sudden appearance had brought me back to reality as effectively as a slap in the face, and I focused upon her halo of blonde hair wavering in the water about her face, and the tiny air bubbles perched on the tips of her lashes.

She gave a short nod, relaxing her hold, and her eyes said: _good. _Pulling away one hand on my shoulder, she held up the short stretch of wire White had given her and raised her eyebrows as if to say: _now pay attention._

Again I heard her in my head, this time replaying back a minute to the instant right before White had reached us. She had said "Just pay attention, and trust me" with enough urgency in her voice to make me watch her every movement now as if my life depended upon it.

Hell, right now it did.

I nodded, and she went to work, twisting and bending the wire to form an intricate pattern—holding up the finished product for me to get a good long look at it. When I nodded to signify that I had it memorized, she pushed off the wall and floated down to my feet in one smooth movement, grasping the padlock with one hand and working the wire into its lock with the other.

A matter of seconds passed, before I heard its click, muted by the water, and a thrill went through me as June maneuvered the chains off of my ankles.

Reaching up, she gently grasped my arm, from where my wrists were still secured behind my back, and pulled me down till I was sitting along the tiled bottom with my back resting against the wall and my knees drawn up to my chest. From there, with a bit of maneuvering, she helped guide my feet into the hole made by my arms till they were no longer chained behind me, but resting naturally before me.

Then the real instruction started.

With my wrists now before me, I was able to see what June was doing with the wire, and she used that to my advantage—working slowly, emphasizing every intricate twist and movement she made, while we both bent our heads over the padlock securing the chains to my wrists.

It was about at this time that I really started to feel my lung's need for oxygen, and I marveled vaguely that it took them this long, but I pressed that urge back as far as it would go, focusing all of my attention upon June's hands and what they were doing.

At one point, I saw the hint of a victorious smile curve her lips, and then all at once, with a twist of the wire, the padlock obediently clicked open and the chains about my wrists loosened and sagged.

I couldn't keep the relieved and thankful grin off my face as June's eyes met mine briefly, before she ducked her head down again and retrieved both lengths of chain from off the pool floor, draping them over her neck, before giving me an insistent little push up towards the surface of the water.

All at once I felt the desperate urge for air, and obligingly began to thrash my arms and kick my legs very awkwardly as I gave my first attempt at swimming.

It wasn't very efficient, but I was moving upwards.

Beside me, June rocketed up through the water like a bullet, having pushed off the bottom with her feet, and when she slowed, began to swim gracefully up to the surface, moving against the weight of the chains about her neck pulling her down.

Again I focused upon her movements, and matching them as best as I could, finding, to my surprise, that I was swimming swiftly, and that the weight and pressure of the water upon me drew less as I grew closer to the top.

At_ last, _I broke through the surface, greedily sucking in air to my starved lungs, as I made a frantic move for the edge of the pool and clung on as I rested and tried to comprehend what just happened.

Everything had happened so quickly and so startlingly, that my brain was still working to catch up.

I had just faced one of my worst fears. No, correction, I had just been hurled _into_ my worst fear while chained and padlocked.

And somehow, not only was I still alive, but I had just had my first swimming lesson, as well as a step by step walk-thru on how to pick a lock while 14 feet underwater armed with nothing but a piece of wire.

Real life saving skills right there. Apparently…..

After a brief moment I looked up, and saw all four trainees and White staring down on me, all four of them, McCallen, Dunn, Mhyen, and Swift, dripping, but looking none the worse for wear.

Beside me, June was perched on the pool edge from where she had hoisted herself up, the chains in a sodden heap at White's feet and her braid dripping a steady rivulet down into the water.

She too was watching me, her face once more a mask, her wet clothes clinging to her skin and her white tank top turned slightly see-thru so that I could just make out the dark of her bra.

But, you know, not that I was looking or anything….

With an impatient movement, White turned away and signaled for us to line up along the pool edge again, and I hoisted myself up out of the water and onto the cement where I once more stood beside June, a puddle of pool water rapidly forming beneath us.

"Well," she whispered in a low tone so that only I could hear as White moved off towards McCallen with the chains in tow, "I hope you paid attention."

And suddenly I understood. It was now my turn.

My turn to free June.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Part two, anyone? ;)**

**I love to hear your guy's input and feedback! Please leave me a review!**

**Hawkward Russian, out-**


	4. Concentrate

**A/N:**

**Helloooooo!**

**I know, I know, its been forever. Thing is, I turned all of my ****_Bourne _****inspiration towards finishing my other ****_Bourne _****fanfic, ****_The Bourne Rebellion. _****(Read the finished product on my profile, and don't forget to send me a review! :D) So now, with Aaron, Marta, Jason, and Nikki's story having come to a close, its this fanfic's time to shine. I'm back for the count, and I plan to get this story up and running, so stick around.**

**Anyways, hope you enjoy. :)**

**-Hawkward Russian**

* * *

**Aaron:**

I didn't bother with excuses. I had learned by now it wouldn't do me any good.

So, though my tongue formed a thousand instant protests against the task that was fast approaching, I didn't allow myself to verbalize them. They just sat there, heavy and trembling inside me. A thousand arguments, a thousand "cant's", and "no's" and a thousand fears.

_What if I cant manage to replicate the wire pattern? Hell, I just learned how to swim for the first time! What if I fail?_

Again, I heard June's voice in my head, repeating her mantra.

_Failure is not an option._

And it wasn't. I told myself that over and over, trying to steel myself for what I was about to do.

_Failure is not an option._

I drew strength from it. There was something in the way it left a paved road in the mind—closing off all other side streets of possibility, till there was only a clear-cut route to success.

_Failure. Is. Not. An. Option._

The splash as Swift toppled backwards into the pool echoed in the room, the sound coming across as a wet, clammy slap of skin against water. Beside me, June shifted on the balls of her feet. Went up on her toes briefly and squared her shoulders. She offered her hands up willingly to White as he approached with the length of wet chain, holding them out crossed behind her as he wound the thick metal about her slim wrists. The padlock cinched shut, and he went to work on her ankles, crouching down with his head bowed.

June glanced over at me, and our eyes met.

I couldn't tell if I was sweating because my skin was already dripping from the pool water, but I sure felt like I should be.

I couldn't hold back the feeling that she should be the one sweating it out in anxious fear, about to be hurled into the depths with nothing but the slim hope of an idiot who cant even swim, much less unlock a padlock underwater with nothing but a length of wire. From where she was standing, I had nothing to lose. I could always swim to the surface and leave her after a failed attempt.

Leave her to drown.

I got the feeling that White and the other Outcome trainees were either under strict orders not to assist, or didn't feel morally inclined to.

But despite all this, all I saw in June's eyes was a raw faith. A simple _don't screw up_.

I sure as hell was gonna try not to.

_Failure isn't an option._

Before I even knew what was happening, June was toppling over the edge. I had to suppress my first instinct to catch her before she hit the water, as well as my second to dive in immediately after her. I remember in the nick of time that I was supposed to let her settle on the bottom first. Some kind of unspoken rule. So I settled for watching her through the unsteady glass of the water anxiously, not even noticing that my whole body was bobbing up and down in pent up, nervous energy.

But June was moving as she sank. Twisting and rolling in the water, as she plunged deeper and deeper. It wasn't till she touched the bottom that I realized what she had been doing—she had already brought her feet up through the whole of her arms so that her hands were now chained before her.

But now it was my turn. The mark had been set. The metaphorical gun had gone off. I took off of that pool block like any Olympic swimmer, the panic only beginning to swell when I settled under the water, the momentum of my dive gone.

I forced it back. I wouldn't let it consume me. Not this time. This time I needed to focus.

This time I needed to become Aaron Cross.

_Move. Swim. Arms out, pull yourself forward through the water. Kick your legs._

Slowly, ungainly, I carved my way through the water down to the bottom. June was looking up at me from the tiled floor, watching my progress. An air bubble escaped her and came up to brush against my face, before scurrying franticly back up to the surface.

At last I reached her, hooking my foot around hers to keep me anchored down. She nodded to the wire I held in my hand and I held it out so that the both of us could see what I was doing. Slowly, meticulously, I replicated the same pattern of twists and kinks June had made in the stretch of wire, while the woman herself looked on, helpless yet surprisingly calm.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I marveled vaguely that the picture of that bent finished product of wire June had showed me underwater, was so clear to me now in my mind's eye. As if I had it before me at the moment for a literal comparison.

But I needed to get everything right. June had no time for any mistakes on my part.

Right about the point when Kenneth Kitsom's lung capacity would have died out, I finished my wire, holding it up for June to approve. She glanced over it and gave a brief, hurried nod, and I immediately set to work on the padlock about her ankles.

I don't know what I was expecting in regards to actually picking the lock—a previous, naïve part of me thinking that the hard part would be the wire; getting it just right to act like a key, opening the lock like it was nothing—but as soon as I inserted that wire, reality struck me in the face.

I couldn't work the wire. I could barely feel anything, the water dulling any sense of movement I probably would have had on dry land, and I had no idea which way to turn it or how. All I was doing was scrabbling around with a wire in a metal hole.

The crippling pang of fear began to creep back in.

Until I was suddenly lightly kicked in the face by June.

I looked up at her, surprised at the action, with a look like _you aren't helping, _but I found her own expression calm and focused. She met my eyes, and again I found I could understand her through them. She spread her fingers, and made two soft downward motions with her chained hands.

_Slow down._

She closed her eyes, her fingers gracefully curling and then uncurling again.

_Feel it._

I hesitated a second, and then bent down to my task again. I closed my eyes. Concentrated on the wire in my hands.

And then something amazing happened.

It was as if all of my senses, in that moment of pure concentration, were amplified to supernatural levels.

It seemed as if time had suddenly stopped. As if the world had ceased to spin. As if all about me everything was thrown into slow motion—cast into some other realm where time was fragmented, shattering into a thousand shards and quivering in the air.

I heard the throbbing movement as the others swam up to the surface—loud and pulsating. I sensed the sway and caress of each miniscule wave as it gently rocked me about in the water, teasing my clothes and hair. My ears picked up the small, musical clink of the chains as they brushed each other underwater. I felt the gentle touch of the metal mechanisms inside the lock.

Slowly, carefully, I shifted the wire about inside, testing the layout, getting myself familiar with it, finding that the lock was separated into layers, each one needing to be centered along one line before the catch would free.

Slowly, painstakingly, I worked to align the first layer. Felt a tiny click that seemed to tremor through my whole body, announcing my success. Not too long after that, a second click followed, as well as a third.

It was the fourth and final layer that my concentration started to waver.

I could feel the press for air. My lungs were beginning to shrivel, crying out for oxygen. Even with the apparent increase in oxygenation that the Outcome serum gave me, I had long passed my limit. By my estimate, I had been under the water for about five or six minutes now.

_Concentrate, _I told myself, trying to find my way back to that heightened sense. But the world was beginning to spin again, the shards of time slowly drawing back together and reassembling.

With one last twist, I felt the lock suddenly spring open, the chains about her ankles sagging. With a quick movement, I freed her legs, but June was already suffering from the press of lack of oxygen. She tried to give me an encouraging little smile, but I could see the strain in her eyes, the tension in her body. She had more training than me, but she had been underwater longer than I had. And I guessed there's a limit to how much Outcome can really do for you.

Hurriedly, I went to work on the chain about her wrists.

I knew my way around the lock now, but it was a lot harder. I couldn't concentrate. My lungs were screaming for air, my head starting to pound.

A full minute later, I felt the first slot click into place.

Before me, June closed her eyes, her body going impossibly rigid as if by an effort to keep still. Stars were appearing before my eyes, while the weight on my lungs felt like it was threatening to break my ribcage.

The second layer clicked.

I felt several small spasms shoot through June's body. Some kind of jerk reflex triggered by her brain literally drowning, though it was obvious even then she tried to suppress them. Tried to hold still for me. I was having a hard time seeing. Having a hard time moving.

The third layer aligned.

I felt June go frighteningly limp all at once. All of her built up tension to keep herself in check suddenly releasing in a dismaying admission of defeat as her body shut down in a last ditch effort to save itself. Her mouth sagged open weakly, a single, pathetically small air bubble scrabbling its way out from between her lips and scurrying up through the water towards the surface. Already the blackness was closing in on me.

_No, _something inside me screamed. _Failure is not an option._

And then all at once, the fourth slot fell into place, and the lock sprung free, and the chains loosened, and the weight fell away from June's body. She lifted up in the water, floating suspended two inches off the tile flooring, eyes closed, body limp and unresponsive.

Some sort of furious burst of energy sparked through me when the last length of chains fell away, the promise of oxygen and freedom spurring me on. In an instant, I snaked an arm about June's waist, pulling her tight to me, kicking and thrashing with my one arm with all my might, leaving the chains where they lay on the pool bottom.

Even by myself it was slow going, but with June's combined weight it felt like I wasn't even moving at all. But I was desperate. The glimmer of light and the promise of air was just above me, tantalizingly close. I was mere feet away from freedom from my watery prison.

Up above, I could dimly make out the faces of White and the others, standing on the pool edge, staring down, their forms made unclear and shaky by the rippling surface of the water. Doing nothing.

_Help us! Why don't you do something!_

I felt a spasm of rage. That they would but watch as June drowned, and I died trying to save her. That they would do absolutely nothing. It spurred me on. I kicked, I thrashed, I pumped with my arms and with my knees like a desperate worm.

And I at last broke through the surface.

Cool air kissed my face as I broke through the water, gasping, and choking, and greedily sucking in huge lungfuls of air. The sudden change made my brain feel like it exploded within my skull, and I closed my eyes against the pain, rolling over onto my back to float there as I still sucked in air like it was the sweetest thing in the world, still holding June tight against me, her head lying back on my chest with her face above the water.

_June._

Concern for her kicked me into action, and I shoved off for the side of the pool.

"MOVE!" I roared at the others gathered there on the ledge, who instinctually scrambled back a step giving me room to hoist June up onto the cement. I quickly followed, coming to sit on my knees over her with my legs straddling her stomach.

If there was one thing Kenneth Kitsom remembered and learned in the Army, it was how to perform CPR. Hastily, I tilted her head back to open up her airways and forced her mouth open, pinching her nose shut with one hand while I stooped to clamp my mouth over hers. I could feel her chest rise as my breath entered her body, before sagging again, just like she was taking a breath of her own.

No response.

"Come on, breathe," I muttered under my breath, stooping once more and repeating the action.

No response.

Above me, I sensed White watching neutrally. Careless whether she lived or died. Even the others seemed to have nothing more than a dry interest.

"Help her!" I shouted, furious and desperate.

No one moved.

"If she dies, she fails," was White's only answer.

_If she fails, she dies, _was my mind's morbid, retort.

_Failure is not an option._

I placed two fingers on her neck. Felt for a pulse. Closed my eyes. Concentrated. Time slowing, each sense heightened.

I felt a tiny spark of life jump out against my fingers.

Stooping once more, I propped her chin up and pinched her nose, giving her mouth to mouth resuscitation one last time. I felt her chest rise and fall with my breath, sat back on my heels to see if there was any result.

Nothing for a split second, and then she started, turning slightly on her side and vomiting up pool water, gagging, coughing, and gasping for air as I had done. With a breath of relief, I rolled to the side to give her free range of movement, watching closely, my hand lingering on her back as she still retched and coughed.

After a long moment, she lay back on the cement, spent and breathing heavily, suddenly tensing as she saw everyone gathered about and watching. I watched the instant mask come up to hide her expression, watched as her muscles coiled ready to spring into action and defend herself at any moment, weak though she was.

Turning, I too glanced up White, half-curious, half-dreading his response.

He lifted his chin, eyes the same cold, heartless blue, face still a mask.

"Gather your gear," he said, in a harsh tone, already pacing away. "You have thirty minutes at the mess hall, before I want you all assembled back at OTR15."

Beside me, June let out a soft groan, and fell back on the concrete.

* * *

**A/N:**

**I suppose Aaron is just starting to get a taste of his new abilities...**

**Please, please, PLEASE leave me a review! It only takes a few seconds and spreads so much happiness. Plus it helps get this little fanfic on the map, and spurs me to post a new chapter faster. So. Maybe its about time you and that little review button below got acquainted with each other? ;) (P.S. THANK YOU!)**

**Till next time,**

**-Hawkward Russian**


	5. Respect

**A/N:**

**Hey all! I'm back!**

**Once again, sorry for the long delay in a new chapter. Now that I'm working as a freelance writer, writing Fanfiction has dropped to the back burner. Plus, yeah, I suppose being on chemotherapy doesn't help matters either...**

**Anyways, here's your new chapter, and I really hope you like this one. Please, please, please leave me a review! It is my writer's sustenance. :P**

* * *

**June:**

I still felt waterlogged.

My head throbbed, and my voice was hoarse, but I wasn't planning on talking much anyways.

It wasn't the first time a training exercise was a few seconds away from going foul in my experience, and it certainly wasn't the first time my fellow trainees and superiors had done absolutely nothing to intervene. We had all been there at one point. Many of us had the scars and medical records to prove it. For others, all that was left to show for it was a recently vacant dormitory and another dog tag to seal and store away.

Another failed Outcome agent, now putting truth to fact that they were legally dead.

The idea was to make things real. That we wouldn't receive any special treatment out in the field, so why should we now in training? And it did put an element of desperation in any exercise, that just wouldn't be there in a safe, controlled environment. You learned to see your opponent as more than just a sparring partner. You learned to see them as a threat. As your enemy. You or him.

And in that you _learned_. Learned to routinely unleash the beast inside you to conquer and win. Learned to operate on a level that helped you reach your full potential. Learned your limits, and how to leap over them and make new ones.

It was no new experience, to be left completely up to your own devices in a training exercise, but it still left me feeling bitter every time.

"….I don't understand how could they just leave us there to drown! What kind of animals are these people?! You nearly died!"

Aaron was still ranting. By now I had mostly tuned him out. Better not to encourage such vocalizations. The faster he learned to keep his mouth shut and internalize, the faster he learned to survive in this place.

Not that it had been a new lesson for me when I first came to Outcome. From the moment I was born, I was taught the importance of silence. The security in it.

Speak when spoken to. Stare down your enemies, don't talk them to death. Never show emotion. Silence is just another wall around your heart. All the better to keep it from breaking.

No, it was no new lesson to me—the cold edge of spy craft. Outcome, the real game for many, was but another playground for me. I had been born into espionage. Born for it. It was my purpose. My skill set. My life. Whether I wanted to live that life or not.

"Way to make an impression today, drama queen."

I tensed automatically, as beside me McCallen slammed down his tray on the table and slid in close on the bench. In front of me, Swift, Dunn, and Mhyen also took their seats along the long cafeteria table, Aaron falling silent in the presence of the other Outcome agents, while his eyes quickly flashed between them, and McCallen and I.

"Keep it up, sweetheart, and you'll have Lover Boy here eating out your hand," McCallen continued, casting a scathing look at Aaron while he speared a bite of sausage from his plate with his knife, popping it into his mouth with a smug smirk.

I kept silent, not falling for the bait, while before me Aaron tensed, also silent, unsure how to react. After all, he was the newbie - the man on unfamiliar turf.

"Leave 'em alone, Three," Swift grumbled from beside Aaron, reaching across the table to snag a packet of cheap raspberry jam, peeling off the cover and beginning to expertly spread it across the crust of his toast with his own personal switchblade.

"I'm Four, by the way," he continued, addressing Aaron who seemed to relax a little, though he still hadn't touched his food since the others arrived. "You can call me Vic though. Victor Swift. This here is Six, Lucy Mhyen, Eight, Curtis Dunn, and Three, Jack McCallen," he said, pointing to each member in turn around the table with the edge of his blade. "One, June Monroe, you've met."

Across the table, Aaron made brief eye contact. "Pleasure to meet you all," he said, after quietly clearing his throat. "I'm-"

"Aaron Cross, Outcome 05. We know," McCallen interrupted in a bored tone, "The pussy who couldn't fill out a pair of BDU's. I wonder, do you still piss yourself at night?"

There was a tense silence, broken only by McCallen's harsh chuckle, while across the table Aaron reddened and stared down at his plate, his knuckles going white around the fork he held in his hands.

For a moment, I wondered if he would use it. Make a move to stab Three in the eye. Not that he would get very far with the action. Such a movement was exactly what McCallen was waiting for, and I knew if Five so much as twitched, he would be face down on the table with a shattered wrist before anyone could blink.

There was, after all, a reason McCallen was Three, and Cross was Five. It was a simple matter of training and instinct. A simple matter of who was the spider, and who was the fly.

I could see the gears in Aaron's head turning from across the table as he weighed his options, trying to decide whether he was going to revert to old habits and let the insults pass, or if he was going to be Outcome and stand up for himself - trying to decide if standing up for himself was even the Outcome thing to do.

Before he could come to a decision, however, I made it for him.

I told myself it was a matter of strategy. After the morning's exercise, I knew Byer and White would be prone to pairing Five and I up in the future, at which point he would be useless to me as a bruised pulp of broken bones. I told myself it was all for maintaining tactical advantage. I had the training, he didn't.

And it wasn't the first time I had disagreements to settle against Three.

"Take it back," I said in a calm, clear voice beside McCallen, my face a careful mask, drawing a surprised look from Aaron, and resigned sighs from Swift, Mhyen, and Dunn.

Beside me, McCallen shifted on the bench, turning to stare down on me with a look of slight surprise, but not displeasure. "Excuse me?"

"Take it back," I repeated again, turning to match his gaze fearlessly, my voice level. "Five is Outcome. One of us. You disgrace him, you disgrace the program. Apologize."

Another tense silence, in which a slow grin spread across McCallen's face, the both of us staring each other down.

He took the bait, like I knew he would. He never could resist. When given the choice of picking a fight with a weak new recruit, or with me, it was no secret McCallen would always, invariably choose me over any option.

The two of us had a bit of history.

"Here we go again," Swift sighed under his breath, picking up his plate and transferring it to the safety of his lap, while beside him Mhyen and Dunn scraped their bench back a foot or two from the table.

The sound echoed in the full cafeteria that had suddenly gone deathly silent in the past few seconds, the tension audibly rising in the room as everywhere standard CIA trainees paused in what they were doing to watch the inevitable outcome.

And right on cue, as if some soundless bell had suddenly gone off, both McCallen and I sprang into action.

His first move I had anticipated, having caught that slight twitch of the finger towards his knife on the table a second before he reached for it, and so when in the next instant he made a slash for my throat with blade, I had already flattened myself along the bench, his arm carving nothing but empty air.

A heartbeat after, and I had kicked off of him with my feet to propel my back along the bench, rolling off the end and to the floor as not half a second later the point of the knife drove into the bench where I had been but a moment before.

Now it was my turn, however, and while McCallen was temporarily hindered by his awkward position on the bench, I turned the whole thing over from my position on the floor, causing him to fall hard on his back, before he recovered and scrambled to his feet.

By that time, I was already up and on the offensive, snagging a silver steak knife from a nearby table and hurling it towards Three's chest, who was in full charge across the room. The blade never reached him, as I knew it wouldn't. The both of us were too good for that. When it came to spars like this, every action was merely an attempt to buy yourself an extra second. To be one move ahead of your opponent, like a fast-paced, life or death game of chess - always trying to add seconds and moves to your count until your opponent gets behind and the finishing blow is yours.

A swipe with his arm, and a mid-charge sidestep, and the knife clattered uselessly against the opposite wall, McCallen reaching me in the next moment and sending the both of us crashing back against the end of nearby table and into the wall, plates, silverware, and glasses clattering loudly to the floor, while the trainee onlookers scrambled to get out of the way.

A second before McCallen had reached me, I had managed to sidestep slightly while hooking a foot around his, so that by the time our backs hit the wall, at least some of his momentum had been dispersed and not all the breath left my lungs on impact. It still hurt like hell, which I swiftly repaid him for by a quick head butt to the bridge of his nose, briefly stunning him while I attempted to worm out of his grasp with a parting elbow to the kidneys.

Before I could step out of range, however, I felt the impact of McCallen's boot on my back as he kicked out, sending me stumbling forward into a bench and then to the floor.

Not good.

Rolling over onto my back as fast as I could, I turned just in time to catch Three's wrist as he drove the point of another steak knife down towards my throat. What followed in the next two seconds was a desperate battle on both ends. Force on force. One up, one down. It was a battle of strength, and therefore a battle I knew I would lose. Outcome or not, McCallen was stronger than me, simple as that. Slowly, painstakingly, the knife point was getting closer.

"Tap out, sweetheart," McCallen grunted, breathless but grinning. "Your boyfriend ain't worth it."

"Who are we kidding?" I shot back, also grinning and breathless, the knife point dropping perilously closer. "We do this for fun."

With a quick twist of my wrist, I forced the point of the blade slightly to the side before relaxing my hold, McCallen's hand instinctually crashing down as he continued to apply force. Crashing down straight into my mouth, whereupon I sunk my teeth into the exposed skin of his hand.

With a cry, McCallen instinctually dropped the knife, a stream of curses forming up in his throat I didn't give him a chance to deliver, as in the next instant my forehead once more connected with his already swollen nose. Quickly snatching up the fallen blade and clamping it in my teeth, I hooked my foot around one of McCallen's legs, while bringing my other knee up to wedge in between our bodies. Together, with the combined leverage, I managed to roll him off of me, and with a quick, sudden movement we very quickly changed places: myself now on top, legs straddling McCallen's back and pinning him down, while one hand was tangled in his hair, forcing his head back, and the other held the edge of the steak knife pressed tight against his exposed throat.

Game over.

"Tap out, sweetheart," I quoted in a quiet whisper, breathing hard but victorious. "It's not worth it."

A second's hesitation, before I felt two quick taps on my thigh, McCallen's face hot and angry, but with a resigned patience. A professional respect. A fair fight. I won, he lost.

At his cooperation, I relaxed the pressure of my blade against his throat ever so slightly. A mutual sign of respect. A nod to him being a fair player, but still maintaining my dominance.

"Now you're going to take back those words you said against Five earlier," I instructed, using the same calm, level tone. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Aaron watching me intensely, eyes wide with shock from the fight, and the fact that I had started it for him.

_Nothing personal. Simple tactics, _I told myself again. _You're no good to me in a hospital bed._

"I'm not gonna do that, One," McCallen grunted beneath me, his voice slightly muffled against the slick tile floor.

The pressure of the blade against his throat immediately resumed.

"I'm not gonna do that, unless Five gives me a reason to," McCallen quickly rectified. "He's in the program now. Let him fight his own battles. He's got to prove his worth, same as everyone in here. He's got to prove he's worthy of Outcome."

A moment of silence passed in the room as I considered this. Three had a point. Every single man and woman in that cafeteria had fought their way through the ranks. The respect they had, they earned well through blood, sweat, and tears. It was Outcome, after all. Outcome, and the damn CIA.

My point had been made too. I never cared for a bully, and while McCallen was more often than not a misogynist asshole, Outcome had at least taught him to have some dignity. I had won this time, fair and square, and now a certain professional courtesy was extended.

"Fair enough," I said with a nod, glancing over at Aaron who met my eyes. "But from now on, all respect will be given to Five unless he is found undeserving of it."

McCallen grunted, and I relaxed my hold, rising fluidly and stepping away just in case he got any last minute ideas of evening the score.

All around me, the cafeteria was returning to normal, trainees righting benches and turning back to their plates as if nothing had happened - though I did notice some of them pocketing bills with smug faces, while others grumbled under their breath. Paying up for lost bets on who would win.

Just another day in Outcome.

"What the hell was that?!" Beside me, Aaron fell into step, matching my furious pace stride for stride. "Why did you-"

"One more word, Five, and I'll break your arm," I interrupted, keeping my eyes fixed on where I was walking. "Shut up, follow me, and don't look back."  
"Why? Where are we going?"

_What part of shut up do you not understand?_

"Doesn't matter where," I muttered. "What matters is we're late."

* * *

**A/N:**

**Weelllll? Write a review!**

**Also, for those of you who follow my other Avengers fic, stay tuned for another one shot that will soon be appearing. I'm still taking plot requests, so if you have any ideas or funny scenes you want everyone's favorite heroes to enact, leave a review on that story (can be found on my profile) or PM me! I try to work in everyone's ideas as much as possible.**

**Until next time...**

**-Hawkward Russian**


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